


Love in the Time of Conferencing

by aurora_australis



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23857363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis
Summary: There are 2,600 kilometers between Melbourne and Townsville.And yet…A MFMM Modern AU with as much distancing as these two can ever manage.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 109
Kudos: 192
Collections: QuarantApril





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes:
> 
> 1) Townsville is a city on the north-eastern coast of Queensland, Australia, about 2,600 km (or 1,600 miles) north of Melbourne.
> 
> 2) This isn’t really a multi chapter story, it’s more of a ridiculously long one-shot. However, as I recognize said ridiculousness of said length, I have divided it into three chapters for easier reading. 
> 
> But it’s a one-shot. 
> 
> 3) A thousand 👏👏👏to SarahToo for the fabulous beta read. 😘
> 
> 4) This was written as a submission for QuarantApril, and obviously social distancing is still happening pretty much everywhere right now, but wherever you are I hope technology is helping you connect a little more, and I hope this story adds a little Phracking fun to your day. ❤️

“Hello? Is this working?”

“Inspector? You need to turn on the camera.”

“The what? Oh, yes, hang on a tick. _Now where the bloody hell..._. oh there we go. Did that work?”

“Perfectly. Lovely to see you, Inspector.”

“Sorry. I’m not used to this yet. I prefer face to face meetings.”

“Really, sir? Because you always say most meetings can be emails.”

“Yes, thank you, Collins.”

“No problem, sir.”

“So is this everyone?”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry — am I late?”

“Don’t worry about it, Dot, we’re still working out the technical glitches.”

“Oh good! Well, not good that there are glitches, just... Anyway, I’m all set up.”

“Ready then? Here we go.”

\---------------------

Jack stared at the screen, his own face, his constable’s, and two strangers staring back. 

So this was police work now.

Great.

Jack cleared his throat and nodded.

“Well, first off, I’d like to thank you both for speaking with us today. I know this isn’t ideal timing, and we do appreciate the effort.”

“Of course, Inspector. Happy to help. When the Victoria Police Force calls, I answer.”

Jack arched an eyebrow. “Actually I believe it was the Australian Federal Police who called us both.”

The brunette with the lovely smile, smiled enigmatically. “Well either way we’re talking now.”

“Indeed.” Jack looked down and consulted his notes. “So, as I understand it, you’re working on a story about illegal drug trafficking - ”

“I _was_ working on a story about illegal drug trafficking — I believe they’ve moved on to people.”

“Right. Which is why we’re speaking today. The AFP have come to believe your story and a series of incidents I’ve flagged in Melbourne could be linked. I’m Inspector Jack Robinson, this is Constable Hugh Collins.”

From his little box in the bottom left corner of Jack’s screen, Hugh gave an enthusiastic wave. 

“And we are speaking with Miss Phryne Fisher and Miss Dorothy Williams, yes?”

Dot nodded quickly and Phryne tilted her head in acknowledgement.

“Good, good. Bit unorthodox conducting an interview this way. But since you can’t seem to make it to Melbourne anytime soon, I suppose we’ll all make do with it.”

“Funny how flights go both ways, Inspector.”

Jack ignored the not-so-subtle insinuation and continued. “Now, obviously there are certain procedures when working with a civilian that — ”

“Consultant.”

“Excuse me?”

Phryne quirked an eyebrow and smiled again, less enigmatic this time. “ _Consultant_. Not civilian. Says so right on my badge.”

Jack suppressed an eyeroll. “You don’t have a badge,” he reminded her.

“No? Pity. Dot, see if you can get me a badge. And maybe one of those sirens for the car.”

The young blonde woman who had been taking copious notes up to this point nodded and added two more bullet points to her list.

Jack crossed his arms. “Miss Fisher, I know all this might seem somewhat sensational, and I appreciate your curiosity for crime — ”

“Well, every lady needs a hobby.”

“But this is not a game.”

At his tone — sharper than usual, but there was real evil at work in his city and he didn’t have time to coddle an amateur — the bottom of his screen froze. Or, at least it seemed to; in reality Hugh and Phryne’s assistant were just rooted in place in surprise.

Phryne, however, seemed unfazed. 

She leaned back in her seat, and crossed her own arms. “And I’m not playing one,” she assured him.

“Good to hear,” he told her. “So let’s get started. Hopefully this shouldn’t take more than a few of these interviews and then we can all part ways.”

The brunette with the lovely smile, smiled skeptically.

“Inspector, I’ve been building relationships with my sources in Townsville for almost a year. I have over 200 hours of relevant tape and another 400 I don’t think is relevant but I can’t rule out. I have reams of notes, which, thanks to my marvelous assistant, Dot, are all annotated and filed, but that still won’t _read_ them for us. Additionally, both Dot and I are extraordinary resources ourselves. The AFP came to you because I came to them, and if you still doubt the value of this avenue of investigation I would remind you that I have a Walkley, an ICFJ, and was nominated for a Pulitzer. I take my job very seriously and I was assured you do as well, which is, to be clear, the only reason we’re talking today. So…. let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”

So this was police work now.

Interesting.

\---------------------

“Did you get all of that Inspector Robinson or did you need me to repeat myself?”

“No thank you, Miss Fisher, I believe we’re good.”

“It’s just, I worry there’s a lag in the connection.”

“Oh?” Jack hadn’t noticed one, but he’d been busy taking notes.

“Yes, you see it’s been four weeks and you’ve yet to act on a single piece of information I’ve given you.”

Jack gritted his teeth and swallowed his first response, which was ungentlemanly at best. It wasn’t that she was _wrong_ , but she had no idea how delicate the situation was and her constant prodding was far from helpful.

Of course, how could she know what the situation really was when he hadn’t told her, a traitorous part of his brain reminded him.

He ignored it.

“We’ll act, Miss Fisher, as soon as I have something more than hearsay and conjecture.”

He felt the full force of her glare across 2,600 kilometers.

“Well I wouldn’t dawdle,” she reminded him, “or you might just wind up reading about it in the _Sydney Morning Herald_.”

“Goodbye, Miss Fisher.”

Jack ended the meeting on his desktop and rubbed his eyes, tired and grumpy and annoyed that neither feeling was unusual anymore. The delay in action was clearly getting to him too. Plus he hated ending calls that way, like he’d disappointed her, which, frankly, bothered him more than it should — which was, to say, at all. But he also wasn’t about to rush things — Jack was diligent and she hadn’t been kidding about how much information she had. 

They’d been at it a month and Jack wasn’t convinced they’d even scratched the surface. Hours of interviews and stacks of papers and there was definitely something there but Jack couldn’t connect it all yet. He ran a hand over his face in frustration, then picked up a file folder off his desk; might as well work on something else while he waited for his brain to catch up with everything she’d thrown at him today. He was halfway through reading the witness statements when his phone rang. He glanced at the number, but he didn’t recognize it. He frowned and answered anyway.

“Hello?”

“Inspector Robinson?”

“Yes… who is this?”

“Sorry. This is Phryne. Phryne Fisher.”

As though he knew more than one Phryne.

“Uh, hello Miss Fisher. How can I… how did you get this number?”

“You’re a police officer, Jack, not in witness protection, it wasn’t that hard.”

She was being cheeky as usual, but there was a frazzled edge underneath that he could hear even through the phone, and it worried him.

“I see. Well what can I do for you?”

“I need… I need a favour.” 

“From me?”

“No one is more surprised than me, Jack, but here we are.”

“Miss Fisher, I — ”

“I’m sorry, that was rude. I’m just… there’s a girl being held at City North. I need you to help her.”

“Excuse me?”

“Her name is Jane. Jane Ross. I met her a couple years back doing a story on mental health reform in Melbourne. Her mother was one of the women I interviewed and we just… hit it off I suppose. I let her stay with me a few times when her mother was… struggling, and we’ve kept in touch since.”

“Is she alright?”

“Yes? No? She’s been arrested.”

“For what?”

“Shoplifting and vandalism. Which is… she’s a good kid, Inspector. Smart and savvy and a fierce protector of the vulnerable. And now… and now no one’s taking my calls at City North! I just…” Jack heard her take a deep breath. “I just need to know she’s ok.”

“Well calm down, Miss Fisher. Let me call, see what I can find out, alright?”

“Yes. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“I’ll call you back as soon as I know something.”

Which, as it turned out, was two and a half hours later from his car.

Phryne answered on the first ring.

“Hello?” she called, slightly desperate, down the line.

“Jane’s fine,” Jack began without preamble, knowing what she wanted to know before any pleasantries. “She’s been released and is home with her mother. I just dropped her off.”

“Oh thank god. What happened?”

“Apparently there was an incident with some girls in her class. She confronted them after school in a shop, there was a mild altercation — which resulted in a display case being shattered — and Jane stormed out, though not before…”

“One of the other girls put some things in her bag.” Phryne sighed with the air of a person who had known her fair share of mean teenagers.

“Yes. Jane swears she was defending some younger girl named Marjory, and honestly I believe her, but that doesn’t make it right.”

“No it doesn’t. But she’s ok?”

“She is. The items are returned and I explained the situation to the shop owner; they’re going to drop all the charges and let her work off a new display case after school.”

“Just like that?” The surprise in Phryne’s tone was new — she never seemed surprised, and Jack would be lying if he didn’t find it a little intriguing.

“Well, I…” he coughed. “I fronted half of the money.”

“Did you then?” And there was that surprise again. “Interesting. I wouldn’t have picked you as one to get involved.”

Jack bit back a smile, despite the fact that she couldn't see him. “It'd be a tactical error to think you had me pegged just yet, Miss Fisher.”

There was a pause, and for no reason he could discern Jack shifted a little in the seat of his car because of it.

When she spoke again, it was warm and a little intrigued herself. “I'm very glad to hear it.”

Interesting indeed.

\---------------------

Jack rubbed his eyes. 

He was tired, but going to bed now would be an exercise in futility and he knew himself well enough not to waste the effort. He pushed send on the email he’d been working on and frowned. He debated opening up Netflix, but he wasn’t really in the mood for a movie. Maybe a book? He turned towards his bookshelf, but was stopped by a strange sound coming from his laptop. The noise was not unknown, of course, but felt out of place at so late an hour.

Someone was FaceTiming him. 

He looked at the number and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

Jack hesitated, one, two, three seconds before pushing the accept button on his laptop.

“Miss Fisher?” he greeted, half welcome, half question.

The brunette with the lovely smile, smiled tiredly. “Good evening, Inspector.”

“Is… are you ok? Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” she rushed to reassure him. “I’m just… I’m up.”

Jack opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “I can… see that.”

“I’m up and I just got your email,” she added. “So I figured you must be up too.”

Jack frowned. “It’s very late, Miss Fisher.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” She cocked her head to the side, and pulled her knees up to her chest and into the frame. “Which makes me wonder, Inspector: why are you always emailing me so late at night?”

“Night owl,” he told her, still a bit off balance.

“Perhaps….” She looked at him intently, her gaze penetrating even on the monitor. “Or perhaps you’re working on this case in your spare time.”

Jack sighed. “How did you know?” he asked, lacking the energy for even a token denial.

She shrugged. “The late night emails and evasiveness whenever I ask about timetables. The AFP being surprisingly hands off about the whole thing. And it’s only ever you and Hugh on our calls. There really should be a task force on this by now. Unless…”

“Unless the top brass isn’t taking this case seriously and only allowed me to work it on my own on the condition it didn’t affect my regular caseload.”

She gave him a wry smile. “You sound a bit like Cinderella.”

He chucked. “I do, don’t I?”

“So why do it?”

He paused, giving her question the consideration it deserved. “Because the top brass is wrong. I’ve been a cop long enough to trust my instincts, Miss Fisher, and my instincts are screaming that there’s something here. And if I’m the only one who can see that for now, if I have to work the case on my own because of it… so be it.”

She looked at him consideringly for a long moment. “Alright,” she finally said.

And there was that need to shift a little in his seat again.

“Alright what?” he asked, slightly nervous.

“I’m going to help you,” she told him.

He raised his eyebrows. “You haven’t been?” 

“I’ve been helping the case,” she clarified. “Now I’m going to help _you_.”

Jack narrowed his eyes slightly and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why does that worry me, Miss Fisher?”

She laughed. “Because you’re a smart man, Inspector. And you might as well call me Phryne — everyone else does.”

Jack shook his head and uncrossed his arms. “Very well, Phryne. And you can call me Jack.” He rolled his eyes. “Although hardly anyone else does.”

“Excellent. I’ll phone you tomorrow — we can game plan.”

Against his better judgement, Jack smiled. “I look forward to it, Phryne.”

“Goodnight, Jack.”

\---------------------

Phryne ended the call but continued staring at her screen for a few minutes after. 

Huh. 

That was… curious. She hadn’t really considered the action before calling him tonight — if she had, she almost certainly wouldn't have done it - but now that it was over she realized how differently she’d expected it to go. He hadn’t been dismissive once. Or rude. Or scowly.

Perhaps they’d reached a detente.

Perhaps there was more to the dour detective than met the eye.

Or perhaps it was late and she should go to sleep.

Phryne sighed, retrieved her whisky and D.H. Lawrence from the side table, and headed to bed.

\---------------------

After that first evening, Phryne called him several more times late at night to discuss the case. Details she didn’t necessarily want on the record, but that might help him with his investigation. He was always unflappably professional, even though he was clearly at home: she could see a bike in the corner, photos hung on the wall, a bookcase nearly groaning under the strain. The overall effect was oddly charming. They kept the calls as short as possible, but friendlier than their official conversations on the record during the day. Still, they were always about the case and always initiated by Phryne.

The first time he called her was a surprise.

Phryne had just booted up her laptop — she was getting home late but she’d needed to unwind and luckily this town had a decent nightlife — when she heard the unmistakable sound of the video call.

She answered immediately.

“Jack?”

“Hello Phryne. Sorry to… is it too late?”

“Not at all. What’s happened?”

“Nothing related to our case I’m afraid. But I wanted…” He took a breath, suddenly looking a little unsure of himself, but continuing on all the same. “You worked at Women's Choice Magazine for a while, didn’t you? It was in your files.”

Phryne frowned at the non-sequiteur. “I did. Quite early in my career, though. Why?”

He looked down, a sad sort of expression on his face. “I’m sorry to have to let you know — Marcella Lavender was killed in her office earlier this evening.”

Phryne sat down at her desk. “Oh no. What happened?”

“We don’t know too much yet. But I didn’t want you to… I wanted you to hear it from me.”

Phryne smiled sadly. “Thank you, Jack.”

“Of course.”

“And it was definitely murder?” she asked.

“It was,” he confirmed.

Phryne slumped a bit in her seat. “Damn. Marcella was a hard woman, but I can’t believe anyone would… do you have any suspects?” she asked.

On the screen, Jack shook his head. “I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with a civilian, Phryne.”

“ _Consultant_ , Jack, we’ve been over this. And maybe I can help.”

“From halfway across the country?” he asked, skepticism writ large across his admittedly handsome face.

Phryne crossed her arms and set her jaw. “To catch Marcella’s killer, I’d help you from space.”

Jack stared at her for a long second, then sighed in reluctant acceptance and Phryne resisted the urge to smile triumphantly. “Fine,” he acquiesced. “Tell me what you know about her.”

When Phryne hung up an hour later, she stopped resisting the urge.

\---------------------

When Jack hung up an hour later, he had five new suspects and a growing suspicion this was becoming a habit. 

But they were good leads and he was a good cop and so he followed up on them.

And it turned out she was right. 

Less than a week later he had the killer in custody with a full confession. When he texted her to let her know the news, she insisted they talk that night so she could get the details.

Jack FaceTimed her, as promised, at 10 in the evening.

She didn’t answer.

He rolled his eyes and opened up YouTube, watching a few videos while he waited. 25 minutes later, he heard her call him back.

He closed the window and accepted the call.

“Sorry, sorry!” she began without preamble, removing her coat as she sat down at her desk.

“If you're going to demand a denouement, Phryne, the least you can do is turn up on time.”

“I had a meeting that ran late, Jack.”

“Mmmm. So do you want to know what happened?”

“Honestly?” She grimaced and wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather start with a drink. It wasn’t a particularly _good_ meeting and I could use something medicinal.” She rose and disappeared from view for a minute, returning quickly with a liberally filled tumbler. She moved to take a sip of the light brown liquid, then stopped. “Join me?” she asked, with a voice softer than her usual tones.

Jack opened his mouth, prepared to decline out of habit, but stopped. He wasn’t on the clock, he was at home, and they weren’t even discussing an active case. Why the hell not? He nodded and moved into his kitchen, pouring a finger of whisky into a glass before coming back to his laptop.

“To justice and old friends,” she toasted, just a little sadly.

“To nightcaps with new ones,” he replied, surprisingly not sad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The annual Walkley Awards are presented in Australia to recognize and reward excellence in journalism.
> 
> The ICFJ Knight International Journalism Award recognizes excellent reporting that makes a difference in the lives of people around the world.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time she called him for something other than work it was a surprise for them both. 

It was late and she was… well she could say bored, but that would be a gross oversimplification. She _was_ bored, but she was also alone and slightly wound and not yet ready for sleep, or it was not yet ready for her, and she wanted to talk to a friend. Phryne had considered calling Mac, but she almost always had an early morning, and then contemplated calling Dot, but she almost never had a late night. And then she’d received another late night email from the Inspector — _Jack_ as he himself had invited her to address him — and he had called them friends just last week, hadn’t he? 

She pushed the button to FaceTime him before she could think better of it. 

He answered quickly, clearly still at his computer, but there was a beer bottle just in frame that suggested he was no longer doing work. 

“Phryne?” He looked concerned. “Everything ok?”

She shrugged. “I’m bored,” she said. 

It was an oversimplification, but it wasn’t a _lie_. 

He rolled his eyes and she smiled. “I can see you, you know,” she reminded him. He rolled them again more dramatically and she laughed. “I thought you might be up too. Night owl and all that.”

He nodded and took a sip of his beer. “I’m just playing solitaire before bed. Sometimes a game helps me wind down.”

An idea sparked and Phryne sat up straighter. “Do you want to play with me?” 

He raised both eyebrows incredulously. “Do I want to play _solitaire_ with you?”

“No, not solitaire. Even if it wasn’t a ridiculous concept, I find card games tiresome. Something else.” Phryne reached over and grabbed a pad of paper and pen from the other side of her desk. “Hangman.”

“Hangman?” Jack took another sip. “What are we, ten?”

“What are you, scared?” she retorted, already drawing a scaffold and making the dashes for letters. “Title,” she informed him, then patiently waited for him to choose a letter.

He shook his head, but the corners of his mouth turned down in what she instinctively knew was a smile. “E,” he said, once she was done.

“Boring,” she chastised, but filled in four dashes all the same.

“T.”

Two dashes.

“A.”

Two more dashes.

“L.”

“Ha!” She beamed triumphantly, wrote down an L in the corner, and drew a head and body. 

Jack stopped mid sip to point accusingly at the screen. “What? No, that’s cheating.”

“There are no Ls, Jack, it’s not cheating.”

“You don’t fill in the head and the body at the same time. It’s one, then the other.”

Phryne frowned. “What? No. Five guess, five body parts. What kind of amateur version do you play, Jack?”

“Uh, the kind that’s based on anatomical accuracy. The head and the body are two _separate_ parts of the body.”

“Well in that case, Jack, you should have 206 guesses.” Jack opened his mouth to protest some more, but Phryne cut him off. “No. My idea, my rules. Keep going.”

Jack blew out a breath, but acquiesced. “N.”

Two more dashes.

“H.”

One dash.

“M.”

Right arm.

“U.”

Left arm.

“P.”

Two very important dashes and Jack made a grimace with his mouth.

“Ugh. Really?”

“What?”

“ _The Pirates of Penzance_ ,” he guessed and she smiled, gracious in defeat.

“Not a fan of operettas, Jack?” she asked, filling in the rest of the letters.

“Not as such, no.”

“More of a Shakespeare, man?” she asked with false innocence.

Jack looked taken aback at that. “How did you…”

Phryne looked into the camera, serious as she was able. “I’m psychic, Jack.”

She waited a beat, watched his face contort in incredulousness and surprise, then laughed. She nodded, indicating behind Jack. “I can see your bookshelf on the screen,” she admitted.

“Ah.” He nodded in acknowledgement of her investigation. “Yes. Rather a lot of clues there, I suppose.”

“You do have quite the collection,” she agreed. “Shakespeare and...” She paused, straining her eyes as she tried to read all the takeout containers neatly stacked by the recycling on the other side of the screen. “Stranos. I take it you like their food?”

Jack looked over his shoulder, saw the evidence and nodded again. “Mmm. They’re nearby and the portions are enough for two meals. Budget conscious civil servant and all that.” He finished his beer, and she expected him to end the call with that, but instead he reached behind him for a pad of paper of his own. “Alright, my turn.” He jotted down four dashes and the scaffold. “Genre.”

“E.” Phryne guessed, and Jack drew a head and body. “I thought you didn’t play that way,” she accused and Jack shrugged.

“Your rules. Keep going.”

“A,” she guessed.

He filled in the second dash with an A.

“T.”

Right arm.

“H.”

Left arm.

“R.”

Right leg.

Jack twirled the pen between his fingers in a manner Phryne would have found distracting if she wasn’t so annoyed at this impossible word.

“Think carefully, Phryne, your man is in danger.”

Phryne frowned, then guessed. “S.”

Jack made a patronizing frown, filled in the left leg, then the remaining three letters.

“Jazz?” Phryne asked. “Ugh.”

“Not a fan?” Jack asked, putting down his paper.

“I am actually. Which makes it all the more galling. You?”

“Can’t say that I am.”

Phryne put her paper down, forgetting about the game. “Oh, Jack, then you haven’t heard good jazz.”

He gave her a considered look. “Is there such a thing?”

Phryne clucked her tongue disapprovingly, then started clicking around on the computer. “I’ve just sent you a Spotify playlist, Jack. Give it a listen.”

He did that non-smile smile thing again. “I make no promises,” he told her. “But thank you. For the game.”

“You’re welcome. Next time we’ll play something else.”

“Do you have any ideas?” he asked, and she found herself surprisingly pleased that he had agreed to the notion so quickly. “Since card games are apparently out?”

She shrugged. “One or two. Good night, Jack.”

“Good night, Phryne.”

\---------------------

> _Do you play chess, Jack? [10:21am]_
> 
> _**Yes. Why? [10:36am]** _
> 
> _Do you want to play with me? I have an app. [10:42am]_
> 
> _**I don’t like those things. They either cost money or bombard you with ads. [10:42am]** _
> 
> _Not this one! My friends developed it. Purely for love of the game. No ads and it’s free. [10:43am]_
> 
> _Budget conscious civil servant and all that…_ _[10:43am]_

He sighed at his own words being used against him. Rolled his eyes. Sighed again. Typed out a response.

> **_Fine. [10:45am]_ **

A few minutes later Jack received an invitation via text message. He clicked on it and downloaded the app. Then he saw the name. Sighed once more for good measure.

> _**Phryne... [10:50am]** _
> 
> **__**_It’s FREE Jack!_ 😘 _[10:50am]_

He shook his head. His phone buzzed. 

> _Your move. [10:51am]_

\---------------------

When Phryne called again a few nights later, neither of them was surprised.

“I see you got my email,” he noted unnecessarily, but he was smiling all the same.

“I did, and I’ll answer tomorrow,” she informed him. Jack nodded and leaned back in his chair, glass of whisky in his hand.

“So is this what you do to wind down?”

She shrugged. “My routine is hardly routine; I do what feels right.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied with a wry smile.

“You should,” she agreed. “You rank right up there with good books, bad movies and companionable... company.”

He raised an eyebrow at the last one, but didn’t comment. “I never understood the appeal of bad movies,” he said instead. “If you’re going to watch a movie, watch a _good_ movie.”

“Oh, Jack, you’re missing the fun. You make a game of it!”

“Alright, I’ll bite; what’s your favourite?”

Phryne pursed her lips as she thought about it.

“Probably _Bride Of Babylon_. First talkie produced in Australia, which is laudable, but it’s _terrible_.”

“So why do you watch?” he asked, leaning forward, his curiosity clearly genuine.

“I don’t know… it’s hard to explain. I guess, maybe there’s something comforting in transforming the bad into good?”

Jack looked unconvinced.

“Plus there’s usually drinking involved,” she added.

“There you go,” he said with a knowing look and a sip.

“And what about you?” Phryne asked. “What do you do to wind down.”

Jack leaned back in his chair again, his long fingers tapping his armrest in contemplation.

“I read a lot. Sometimes Shakespeare, as you noted, but really anything.” He chuckled. “Sometimes I read archaic police code if I really need the sleep. I watch Netflix, mostly film noir. Oh and YouTube. I watch a lot of YouTube.”

“What do you watch?” she asked, resting her chin on her hand.

“Mostly tutorials.”

“Any favourites?”

“A few,” he acknowledged. “There’s a guy who does bike upgrades, another one who teaches astronomy.” Then he smiled — really smiled, not the wry smirk or the downturned lips, but a look of genuine happiness — and Phryne found herself leaning closer to the monitor. 

“But my favourite,” Jack began, “my favorite is this guy who posts these comprehensive mixology tutorials. He’s retired from... actually I don’t know what he did — I get the feeling he’s not allowed to say — but now he posts these videos. He mixes drinks, but he also tells these stories, about life and, and how to treat people, and… I don’t know. I find him calming.”

“I’ll have to look him up,” Phryne told him, voice softer than she’d intended. “What’s his name?”

“Well, he calls himself Mr Butler, but I can’t imagine that’s his real name.”

Phryne smiled. “No, probably not. Do you experiment a lot with his creations?”

“Oh no, I’m always too nervous I’ll mess them up.” He held up his glass of whisky neat. “I tend to stick to the one-ingredient mixes.”

Phryne laughed. “Very practical.” Then she yawned, and it was Jack’s turn to laugh. 

“Well it looks like I served my purpose,” he told her. “You’re ready to hit the hay.”

She nodded, but made no immediate move to end their call. “I will. Soon. You say hello to Mr. Butler for me.”

“Will do. Goodnight, Phryne.”

Phryne hovered her mouse over the end button, but paused before pushing it. “Oh and don’t forget our chess game — it’s your move.”

Jack sat up immediately. “About that — ”

“Goodnight, Jack.”

\---------------------

“Did the warrant come in, sir?”

His head in the filing cabinet, Jack briefly looked up at his constable's question. Across the room Hugh shifted nervously from one foot to the other. 

“Not yet, Collins. But the Crown Prosecutor said she’d alert me as soon as it went through.”

Hugh nodded and Jack went back to his files. A moment later Jack’s phone buzzed. “That’s probably it,” Jack said. “Check for me, would you, Collins?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack waited to hear confirmation that they had their warrant, but all he heard was Hugh’s nervous cough. He looked up to see his constable pink in the cheeks and pushing Jack’s phone to the other side of the desk.

“Collins?”

“Uh, sir, you have a notification.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “I assumed as much. From who?” 

Hugh swallowed nervously. “From, uh, something called King-ky Pawnography.”

Jack groaned. “It’s a chess app, Collins.”

“Oh. Oh...” Collins looked relieved and confused at the same time.

“Miss Fisher suggested it,” Jack explained.

“Yes, sir.” Collins still looked vaguely uncomfortable, though, and busied himself checking his own phone.

Jack rolled his eyes. Of all the damn names they could have chosen...

It _was_ free, though.

Jack looked up to confirm Hugh was still busy with his mobile.

Knight to F3.

\---------------------

Already at her laptop, Phryne answered as soon as she got Jack’s Zoom invite.

“Jaaaack. No FaceTime, tonight? Is this a formal interview?”

“Yes. I would like to formally accuse you of scarring my constable for life,” he told her, though there was no bite to it. “Also I apparently opened the wrong application.”

She laughed. “Well this works fine too. So how did I scar Hugh?”

“He didn’t know what to make of your chess app.”

Phryne laughed again, feeling lighter, for some reason, than she had all day. “Well wait until I introduce him to _Sudoku_.” She stretched out the word seductively and Jack chuckled. 

Phryne shook her head, chastising herself. “No, no. I need to be nice.” She leaned into the camera conspiratorially, and saw Jack mimic the motion. “I think my assistant has a crush on him.”

“Well that’s convenient, because Hugh can’t say her name without blushing or stammering or both.”

Phryne beamed. “Ohhhh, that is convenient! The question now is what can we do to help?”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t suppose ‘stay out of it’ is an option?”

“Not even a little bit. Let me think about it. I’m sure we can come up with something. Perhaps a romantic overture of some kind.”

“Well don’t set your bar too high, Phryne. This is Hugh we’re talking about. He has a habit of apologizing to furniture when he trips over it. Shakespeare’s soliloquies might be out of his wheelhouse.”

Phryne grinned predatorily and Jack froze, aware he had just walked into a trap but unsure exactly how.

“Unlike, say… you?” she asked, voice as innocent as possible.

He coughed. “Uh, no. Thank you.”

“Oh come on, Jack!” Phryne moved from suggestive to petulant instantly. “I know you have one or two of those monologues memorized. You don’t have all those tomes in your library without reciting them the way they were meant to be read.” Jack’s cheek twitched, a sure sign his resolve was cracking, and Phryne went in for the kill. 

“Please,” she said, doing the best to look up at him from lowered lashes that the laptop camera angle would allow.

Jack sighed, then shot her a ‘what the hell’ look. He cleared his throat. “A — ”

“Wait!” Phryne stopped him, fingers already flying across the keyboard.

“Oh bloody hell, Phryne, make up your mind.”

“No, no, you’ll like this.” She sent him an image over the chat feature and waited for him to receive it. “Make that your background,” she instructed. He shook his head, but acquiesced, and suddenly Jack was no longer in his living room — he was center stage at the Globe Theatre, surrounded by an artist’s rendition of how it would have looked in Shakespeare’s day.

“Better?” he asked, poorly suppressing a smile as he took in the new scenery.

“Much,” she agreed. “You deserved a proper setting. Now… the stage is all yours.”

Jack looked into the camera, his gaze more piercing than she could ever remember it being before, and Phryne’s breath caught in her throat. 

“Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety. Other women cloy the appetites they feed, but she makes hungry where most she satisfies.”

Phryne was silent for a moment, the only thought in her head a curse she didn’t think he’d take the right way. She tried to steady her voice, and smiled at him to buy herself a moment. 

“Perhaps a career in the theatre beckons after all, Inspector.”

He swayed his head back and forth in thought, then shook it. “Think I'll stick to crime,” he said. “Speaking of which, I have an early morning, so I best say goodnight now.”

“Of course, Jack. Sleep well.”

“You too, Phryne. Night.”

He ended the call and she closed her laptop. 

Fuuuuuck. 

Oh, that was... that was terribly inconvenient.

So why couldn’t she stop smiling?

\---------------------

“Alright, so... what do we do now?”

He couldn’t see her yet, but he could hear her moving things around in her rented flat. “Are you set up?” she asked, still off camera.

“Yes. It’s paused at the beginning.”

“Good.” Phryne slid back into view. “Ok, so I count down and then we both press play at the same time. That part’s crucial, Jack, otherwise we’ll have an echo.”

“Uh uh.” Jack leaned back in his chair, ensuring he could see both her and the television. “And what are the rules again?”

“You take a drink every time the sound doesn’t match up with their mouths, every time a toga slips and every time an erect spear resembles… something else.”

“A drink or a shot?”

Phryne’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “A _shot_? My, my, ‘Fun Jack’ really has come out to play tonight, hasn’t he?”

Jack shook his head in exasperation, but it was all for show. As a matter of fact, Fun Jack _was_ out to play tonight. Regular Jack had a crappy week behind him and a full weekend off ahead of him and rather thought getting drunk with a friend seemed like an excellent way to kick it off.

Not that he’d tell her that.

“I’m just trying to acquaint myself with the rules,” he informed her, surreptitiously moving his whisky bottle closer to his seat. “As you so often point out, I like rules.”

“Sure sure,” she smiled fondly. “You do whichever you like, Jack. I will be taking a drink.”

Jack looked around to make sure he was all set up, with everything within reach. “Are you close to ready?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, keep your shirt on.” Phryne stopped what she was doing to look directly into the camera, grinning wickedly. “Or don’t. I suppose it depends on just how fun Fun Jack is.”

He shook his head again, mostly to hide the smile this time.

“Oh!” Phryne had set herself up finally, but didn’t seem ready to start. “I forgot to tell you. Dot’s coming to Melbourne next week. She’s doing some background research for me at the archives there and then we’re making it an extended stay to help with any legwork you and I might need.”

“Really? Collins will be happy.”

“I thought so. Maybe prep him a bit? I’d like her to come back a little less lovelorn.”

“I’ll do my best.” Jack took a bite of his sandwich. “Dot excited for the trip?”

“She is. And she’ll be happy to be video conferencing less as well.”

“Why’s that?” Jack asked.

“I think the wifi makes her nervous. Something her priest said? I don’t know, she hasn’t offered and I haven’t asked. Ok! Ready?”

“Ready.”

“On your mark… get set… go!”

\---------------------

> _Is it true, Jack??? [8:45am]_
> 
> _**Should I even ask how you found out? [8:50am]** _
> 
> **_Yes, it’s true. [8:50am]_ **
> 
> _Call me with details! [8:52am]_
> 
> _**As soon as it’s final, Phryne, I promise. [8:53am]** _
> 
> _Fine. But not a moment later! [8:53am]_
> 
> _**Deal. Talk to you soon. [8:54am]** _
> 
> _Oh, Jack… is it true?_ _[5:23pm]_
> 
> _**Yes. Call you tonight.** _ **_[5:45pm]_**

\---------------------

Jack pushed the call button on his phone. No video chat tonight; he couldn’t face her eyes.

She answered on the second ring.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

“Hey.” Jack sat down on his couch and leaned his head back. “So you heard.”

“What happened?”

“We had a witness. A bagman who had recently lost his brother and was looking to make a change.”

“Maurie Burke,” she said, and he fought back the urge to ask her how she knew. It didn’t matter now anyway.

“Yes. Burke agreed to provide evidence. Agreed to testify against his bosses. Agreed to… everything.”

“What happened?” she asked again and Jack shut his eyes.

“Damned if I know. We had two officers escorting him across town to the Crown Prosecutor's. He… he never made it. Dead on the scene. No suspects so far.”

Phryne was quiet for a moment. “And the officers?”

“One has minor injuries, the other is in critical condition, but stable. I just got back from the hospital.”

“Of course you did,” she whispered, but so kindly it hurt his heart to hear.

“So… that’s it, I’m afraid. Our first big break… dead on the scene.”

“Oh Jack… I am so sorry.”

He laid down on the couch fully, shaking his head for a second before he remembered she couldn’t see him. “What do you have to be sorry for? You didn’t fuck this up.”

“And you didn’t either!” She wasn’t whispering anymore.

“Phryne…”

“No. You didn’t fuck anything up and this is still a break. Because someone didn’t want Maurie Burke talking. Which means one, we have confirmation there is something to talk about, and two, we have a new lead. So pick yourself up off that sofa and let’s get to work.”

“How did you — ”

“Your voice gets lower when you lay down. So I repeat… Get. Up.”

Despite everything, Jack smiled.

“You should be a life coach,” he said, sitting up as instructed.

“I’m going to remind you you said that the next time you complain about a hangover.”

“How can there be _so many_ phallic spears in one film?”

“Movie magic, Jack,” she said, and he could practically hear her wink over the phone. “Now, are you ready to start working on this lead, or do you need the evening?” Her voice got softer again. “No judgement either way.”

He believed her.

“How stocked is your bar?” he asked instead.

“Moderate to fair. Why?”

“What if tonight we just watch one of your terrible movies together? Get to work in the morning?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Phryne?”

“Mmmmm.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, Jack. So… what kind of terrible are you in the mood for?”

“Surprise me,” he said, smiling again.

\---------------------

> _**Can we push back tonight? [5:45pm]** _
> 
> **__** _Sure. What’s up? [5:49pm]_
> 
> _**Cultural event. [5:50pm]** _
> 
> _Jack I swear if this has anything to do with Abbotsford... [5:55pm]_
> 
> **_It’s the finals! [5:56pm]_ **
> 
> 😑 _[5:56pm]_

\---------------------

Her phone propped between her shoulder and ear, Phryne looked over her notes and waited for Jack to pick up. It was rare these days for her to call him, instead of video chatting or texting, but he was at work and this just seemed faster. She had just resigned herself to getting his voicemail when the call was answered. 

“Hello? Who is this?”

It was a woman. Older perhaps. Decidedly not Jack. 

“Who is _this_?” Phryne countered. Not, perhaps the most original question, but still the one she wanted answered. 

“Jackie’s message service, who do ya think?”

_Jackie?_

“Uh…” Phryne, uncharacteristically found herself speechless. And before she could remedy the situation she heard a noise in the background and then Jack’s gruff voice. 

“Is that my... Jesus, Else, _boundaries_. You can’t just go answering my phone.”

“Eh, I knew you’d be back any minute and the picture was so _weird_ ,” the other voice said, growing fainter as Jack clearly reappropriated his mobile. 

“Hello?” he said down the line.

“What’s my picture, Jack?” Phryne was no longer speechless and had a new question she wanted answered. When he didn’t immediately respond, she prodded. “Jack…?”

“A Roman coin,” he finally admitted. 

“Are you a numismatist, Jack? How nerdy.”

“Says the woman who knows what numismatist means.”

“Why am I a coin, Jack?”

“Because you’re like a bad penny, Phryne.” She laughed and he continued. “Did you actually need something or are you just calling to harangue me about my choice of hobbies?”

“I did actually, but you sound busy. We can talk tonight. Bye Jack!”

Phryne was just about to end the call when she heard the faint voices on the other end continue their own conversation. 

“Who was that, Jackie? She sounds pretty,” the other voice said.

“She is,” Jack replied. “Now about you answering my phone…”

\---------------------

> **__** _So I hear things are going very well between my assistant and your constable. [11:22am]_
> 
> **_None of my business, Phryne. [11:25am]_ **
> 
> **_Or yours. [11:25am]_ **
> 
> _I’m being HELPFUL, Jack. [11:26am]_
> 
> _**How? [11:26am]** _
> 
> **_HOW? [11:30am]_ **
> 
> 😘 _[11:30am]_

\---------------------

“My source sent me everything he had on Burke’s brother’s death. I think we should look into what happened, given that it seems to have been the impetus for Burke switching sides.”

Jack nodded absently at her on the monitor and Phryne narrowed her eyes.

“Which I feel is especially important as he was, in fact, an extraterrestrial.”

Jack nodded again, then caught himself. “Wait, what?”

Phryne sighed. “What’s the matter, Jack? I can’t help but feel like I don’t have your full attention today.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just this case I caught this morning. It doesn’t make any sense. A 25-year-old woman died of cardiac arrest in her home. The coroner thinks it was brought on by a severe electrical shock a short time earlier, and there _was_ a USB charger on the wall in her bedroom that was scorched, but we can’t find the actual item. None of her electronics show any signs of shorting or tampering. Mobile, laptop, extra battery — all fine. I’m looking for anything else with a USB charger, but…”

“Huh.” Phryne had said the word before she realized she meant to.

“What?”

Phryne coughed. “And you said she was alone before she died?”

“Yes...”

“Check her bedside drawer. Probably in the back, tucked away.”

Jack looked at her in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Just trust me, Jack.” She winked and hovered her hand over the end call button. “And good luck!”

\---------------------

> _**Phryne… how did you know? [9:18pm]** _
> 
> 😇 _[9:18pm]_

\---------------------

It was drinks with a colleague after work.

That’s what Jack told himself. Yes, it had become a habit — late night phone calls, usually with drinks and laughs, occasionally with quiet confessions they hadn’t told anyone else — but lots of people did this kind of thing with coworkers. It was a way to let off steam. Not a big deal.

He knew the minute he’d been kidding himself.

It was a fluke, really. It wasn’t like he regularly received reports on police activity in Townsville. But a visiting Inspector had gotten a call about it and the next thing Jack knew he was reading a police report of a woman involved in a high-speed car collision at the marina that had ended with her going into the water and never coming out. And he wouldn’t have even worried except for her plans (she had mentioned a meeting down by the docks today) and the description (slight woman, black hair) and the only name that had come through (Fisher). 

Not that it wasn't a common name. It was. Very. 

Still.

> _**Do me a favour, let me know you’re ok? [3:51pm]** _
> 
> **_Phryne… just humour me. [4:30pm]_ **
> 
> **_Really, give me a call. [5:01pm]_ **

After the third unanswered text he gave up and called her, tapping her name and briefly seeing an Egyptian queen cast on a silver coin. No answer. He left a message. Then another. Then a third.

When he couldn’t get any new information from the Townsville Police Department five hours later, he seriously contemplated looking up flights, but talked himself down.

Still…

At 10:21pm his phone rang. He answered immediately.

“Hello? Phryne?”

“Hello Jack! I got your messages. How’s tricks?”

Her tone was so cheerful and light it felt like a slap to the face. He’d been working himself into a state all day, trying to tamp down the idea that he might never talk to Phryne again and now she was being as Phryne as ever. He couldn't process it; the next words that came out did so without his brain’s assent.

“How’s… what the fuck, Phryne! I’ve been trying to reach you all day!”

She was silent for a moment and Jack shut his eyes and took a breath, trying to calm himself. When she finally responded, her tone was no longer cheerful.

“Well I was busy, Jack, and I don’t care for your tone.”

“Did your phone work?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should have responded. I was _worried_. You… you should have called me back.”

“I didn’t realize I answered to you.”

“You don’t. It doesn’t mean you should be so… so careless.”

“With what?”

And now it was Jack’s turn to be silent for a moment.

“I was worried,” he repeated quietly.

“So I gathered, though I don’t know why. And in any case, I’m clearly fine.”

“You are,” he agreed.

“Good. Now that that’s all settled, can we be friends again? Despite my cavalier approach to communication?”

“Of course. Goodnight, Miss Fisher.”

He hung up before she could say anything else.


	3. Chapter 3

Phryne called him a few more times at home after that, but twice he didn’t pick up and once he told her he was tired and she took the hint pretty quickly. They did keep video conferencing during the day though, making steady progress merging their separate investigations into one, getting ever closer to finding the source of the increase in human trafficking in Melbourne. 

And if he missed her in the evenings, well… he would get over it.

He almost believed it.

Working late at the office helped the self deception, and he found himself there most nights, including this one, crossing T’s and dotting I's, until another Dot caught his attention.

“Miss Williams,” he greeted, seeing her hovering by the door, clearly watching for someone. “If you’re looking for Hugh, he’s down in booking. Should be back shortly.”

“Thank you, Inspector.” She continued hovering, clearly not sure where to go, and Jack took pity on her.

“Why don’t you wait in here?” he suggested. She nodded gratefully and took a seat. Jack pushed his paperwork to the side and steadied himself for small talk.

“So, are you enjoying Melbourne?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. 

“Oh very much,” she beamed. “The pace and the people. It’s just wonderful. Phryne’s work takes her all over, but I’d be very happy if she chose this as her next base. And of course I adore, the, uh,” she blushed, “architecture.”

“Ah.” Jack smiled, genuinely happy for his constable and this very kind young woman. “Well I have it on good authority that the architecture adores you too.”

She blushed a deeper pink and he decided to change the subject. 

“So you don’t miss Townsville then?” he asked. 

“No, though of course I miss Phryne. And I worry about her,” she said, gently twisting her hands in her lap. “Especially today.”

“What’s today?” Jack frowned, unaware of anything significant but also well aware they hadn’t spoken of personal matters in a while. 

“It’s her birthday. I just wish she wasn’t alone.”

“Well I’m sure Miss Fisher has found the best party in town and is celebrating as we speak.”

“I don’t think so,” Dot said quietly. “It’s better when she’s around someone she’s close to, like Dr. Mac or me, but she doesn’t really do anything when it’s just her. I think she still — ” Dot stopped suddenly, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I just think it’s a hard time of year for her, that’s all.”

Jack cast his mind back through their conversations and sighed. Of course. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t put the dates together before. 

“Because of her sister,” he said, glancing down sadly at the table. When he looked back up, Dot was staring at him in wide-eyed surprise. 

“She told you about that?” Dot asked, watching him now with equal parts suspicion and fellowship. 

“Yes,” he confirmed, suddenly feeling a little like he was on the wrong side of an interrogation table.

“I’d known her well over a year before I found out and that was only by accident.” The suspicion fell away and Dot smiled softly. “You must be very good friends indeed.”

Jack swallowed. 

“Sometimes, Miss Williams. Sometimes.”

“Dottie!”

Hugh stood in the door, grinning at his date, who turned immediately to grin back, and Jack was grateful for the interruption to his admission.

“I’m all finished for the evening, sir.” Hugh glanced briefly at Jack before turning back to Dot. “Unless you need anything else.”

“Not a thing, Collins. I was just keeping Miss Williams company until your return. You two have a good time.” At his words, Dot stood, gave Jack a small wave goodbye and left, hand in hand with his constable.

Jack leaned back in his chair and stared at the clock on the wall. 

Damn.

Very good friends indeed, she’d said…

He found he wanted to believe it.

The remaining T’s remained uncrossed as Jack picked up his things and left.

\---------------------

Jack arranged all the items he’d picked up on the way home, plus the ones he’d already had, in order along his counter. Then he set the laptop up so the camera could get all of it and him in the shot, swallowed nervously, and double clicked her name.

It took a while, but she picked up.

“Is it too late?” he asked, taking in her appearance. She was dressed casually, but still stunning. She was always stunning. No pajamas yet, though, which he took as a good sign. She seemed smaller than usual tonight though, less larger than life. He supposed sometimes life won in that particular battle.

She gave him a skeptical look — bordering on annoyed — and he was ridiculously pleased at how very Phryne it was despite her sadness. “You know me better than that, Jack.”

“I do. And I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

Jack nodded. He reached for the first item and held it up to the camera.

“3/4 ounce rye whiskey,” he said. He poured it into a mixing glass filled with ice and picked up the next ingredient.

“3/4 ounce Cognac.” It also went into the glass. Jack consulted his notes and kept going, carefully measuring each one out as he went.

“3/4 ounce sweet vermouth, 1/2 ounce Benedictine Liqueur, one dash of Peychaud's Bitters, and another dash Angostura Aromatic Bitters.”

He didn’t look at her as he worked, merely combined the ingredients, stirred them well and then strained them into a coupe glass. 

“Final ingredients,” he announced, finally looking back up. “Ice, cherry for garnish, and one… one very apologetic policeman who should have been a better friend.”

Phryne eyed the glass in his hand. “One of Mr Butler’s recipes?” she asked. He nodded and she continued. “I thought you were always too nervous you’d mess them up.”

Jack shrugged. “I got over it.”

He dropped the cherry into the drink and held it up to the camera in toast. “Happy birthday, Phryne.”

She smiled at him, small but real.

Not too late at all.

\---------------------

> _Jackie New Year! 🎉🎉🎉 [12:02am]_
> 
> **_Are you drunk? [12:02am]_ **
> 
> 😇 _[12:03am]_
> 
> _You’re my first text after midnight, Jack. You should be HONOREDED. [12:03am]_
> 
> _Honred. [12:03am]_
> 
> _Honoured. [12:03am]_
> 
> **_Oh I am. [12:03am]_ **
> 
> **_Happy New Year, Phryne. [12:04am]_ **

\---------------------

“Why did you call me again?” Jack asked, combing his hair off camera.

“Because I blame you for my current hangover and I want you to suffer with me.”

“And your overindulgence is my fault how?”

“I haven’t figured that part out yet. But I will and it will be a doozy.”

“Uh huh…” Jack finished with his hair and walked back to the laptop. He sat down at the desk and started using the image of himself on the screen to tie his bowtie.

“Tell me again why you’re dressed up?” she ordered, clearly eyeing him appreciatively in his tux.

Jack could say he minded, but he wasn’t a liar.

“I’m providing additional security for a New Year’s Day gala at Russell Street. I drew the short straw if you’re curious how excited I am about it.”

“Well enjoy the champagne. A lot. And then let me call you tomorrow to— Jack, _what_ are you doing to that bowtie?”

“I’m tying it. Obviously.”

“You’re _murdering_ it. Look at the silk, it’s all creased. Stop, just… stop. I’ll be right back.”

She wandered away from her computer for a moment and Jack huffed. Really, he was a grown man and knew his knots. Even if this one was being somewhat of an arse.

Phryne returned to the screen with a length of ribbon about the same size as the bowtie.

“Alright,” she said, moving it up to her neck. “Just follow me.”

He huffed again but did as he was told, following the movement of her hands and fingers exactly, quickly at first but slowing down as she did. No words were spoken, but up, around, over they went and suddenly Jack realized he was holding his breath. It was... strangely intimate, this moment, his own hands on his own neck standing in for hers, and for a moment he swore he could feel them.

God, he wanted to feel them. 

She was done with the tie now, but still staring at him, her own breaths short and shallow. He slowly lowered his hands and opened his mouth, unsure what he planned to say, but needing to say _something_.

“Phryne, I — ”

Suddenly his phone buzzed and shattered the moment.

And for a brief, illogical moment of his own Jack considered shattering the phone back.

“Important?” she asked, removing her makeshift tie from around her neck and looking away from the camera.

“My former — my boss. The very newly appointed Commissioner. He wants to know where I am.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said. “You look very dashing, by the way. Have fun tonight. Don’t miss me too much.”

Jack could say he wouldn’t, but he wasn’t a liar.

\---------------------

“Absolutely not!”

“Jack, I — ”

“No, you’re a civilian — ”

“Consultant!”

“ — and I cannot let you put yourself in danger like that. Just give me some time to secure a warrant, will you?”

“One, you don’t _let_ me do anything and two, THINK for a minute, will you? This could be it. This could be _the_ lead. Whatever is on that ship is a direct link between the traffickers in Melbourne and the ships moving them through Townsville. But it won’t be there ‘soon’. It won’t even be there tomorrow. We only get one shot at this and I’m doing it. The only question is whether or not you have my back.”

“Of course I have your back...”

“Thank you!”

“I just don’t want to have to identify it in the Townsville morgue.”

On the other end of the line she was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again she sounded utterly serious.

“I’ll be careful, Jack. I _promise_. But I’m doing it with or without your help.” She paused for a second. “Though, for what it’s worth, I’d much prefer the former.”

Jack flopped down onto his desk and closed his eyes.

“What do you need?” he finally asked.

“Do you have a pen?”

\---------------------

Seven hours later Jack had nearly paced a groove in his office floor. Outside his office Hugh and Dot, the only other two people who knew what Phryne had planned to do, waited quietly, seated together, hand in hand.

Finally, _finally_ , his phone rang. The other two ran into his office as Jack scrambled to answer.

“Phryne?”

“It’s me, Jack. I’m fine. Well… mostly fine. But there’s a tasered young man back on the ship who is much less fine, so I’m calling it a win.”

“Phryne…”

Her voice softened. “I’m fine. Really. And that equipment you secured for me came in very handy, so thank you. But now that we’ve established I’m ok, can you please give the phone to Dot?”

Jack did as instructed, making space on his desk for Dot’s laptop.

The younger woman began clicking at some keys at an almost frightening speed, Jack’s phone propped between her ear and her shoulder.

“Phryne’s sending over all the photos and document scans she took now,” she told him. “She thinks you should pay special attention to this first one.”

Jack looked over Dot’s shoulder at the document. SWF Exports.

SWF Exports…

Jack looked further down the page, saw two very familiar signatures and basically collapsed into his seat.

“Sir?” Hugh asked with clear concern. 

“Inspector?” Dot was looking worried now too and Jack wondered just how pale he’d gone.

His throat felt impossibly tight, but he somehow managed to speak nonetheless. “May I have the phone please, Miss Williams?”

Dot handed the phone back to Jack, still downloading files, but watching him with concern out the corner of her eye.

“Phryne, the research we did on Maurie Burke — his brother died in an altercation with the police, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you find out who was on the scene?”

“I did. I have it somewhere…” He heard her rummaging around with her notepads. “Aha. Here we go. I’m going to take a photo of the details and text it to you.”

Jack waited a moment for the text to come through, then scanned the names of the officers involved.

“Goddammit,” he muttered and Hugh looked over in surprise. Jack couldn’t find it in himself to apologize though and the young man would probably hear much worse before the night was through anyway.

“I know who’s behind it,” he said, quietly, coldly. “Phryne, your contact at the AFP — I know they didn’t want a turf war, but how ready do you think they’d be to help if we had hard evidence?”

“Very,” she assured him.

“Call them. If you combine what’s in the papers you found today with the financial records I already have, that should at least get us a warrant.”

“Jack… where did you get these records?”

Jack took a deep, grounding breath. “My divorce proceedings.”

\---------------------

Phryne tapped her fingers nervously on the counter of her kitchen. The warrant had come through at midnight and the AFP raid had occurred just before dawn. She wasn’t there, couldn’t help, should have probably tried to get some rest. But she couldn’t sleep. Not until she knew everyone was ok.

It was just past 9am. Somebody better fucking call her soon or so help her she’d steal a yacht from the marina and sail to Melbourne herself.

She went to make herself some coffee instead.

The phone rang at 9:14am.

“Hello?”

“Phryne? It’s Dot. I’m just calling to let you know everyone is alright. The raid went off without a hitch. They found some women, and Hugh’s helping to get them to the proper organizations now. Sidney Fletcher was there, and they’ve arrested him along with… along with Commissioner Sanderson.”

“And Jack?”

Dot’s voice got lower. “I don’t know, Phryne. After the arrests he just seemed… numb. His ex-wife… she came to the station to confront her father and she didn’t seem at all well. I think he took her home.”

“I see.” Phryne sat down, suddenly very, very tired.

“You should call him.” Dot suggested, though it sounded suspiciously like an order.

“I will,” Phryne promised.

She hung up with Dot and dialed his number.

It went to voicemail, and she didn’t leave a message.

\---------------------

Shortly after, Phryne fell asleep in her chair, not waking up until late afternoon. She checked her mobile, but Jack had not called back.

She tapped the phone against the armrest for a moment, trying to decide what to do.

Eventually she settled on a text.

> _When you’re ready, I’m here. [4:04pm]_
> 
> **_not fit to speak [4:06pm]_ **
> 
> _Are you drunk? [4:06pm]_

The three little bubbles taunted her for what felt like an hour as he apparently spent an age deciding how to respond. Finally his message came through.

> _**Yes [4:08pm]** _

She almost laughed at the sheer Jack-ness of it.

> _Do you want some company? We can get drunk together. [4:08pm]_
> 
> **_No [4:09pm]_ **
> 
> **_But thank you [4:09pm]_ **
> 
> **__** _Anytime, Jack. [4:09pm]_

\---------------------

Jack was slightly less drunk by dinner time, with no idea that it _was_ dinner time except he was hungry. He contemplated his options, but none seemed worth the effort of facing the world, even on the phone. He was just contemplating some frankly questionable leftovers when there was a knock at his door. He looked through the peephole, but no one was there. Jack opened it and was surprised to find a package on his doorstep.

It was a sandwich. Well, technically two sandwiches, chips, a salad and a slice of cake, all from a very well-reviewed deli nearby he’d always meant to try. There was also a note on top.

“Thought you could use some sustenance. P.F.”

He looked at the sandwich. Ham, cheese and mustard pickle. 

> _**My favourite. Thank you. [7:45pm]** _
> 
> **__**_Told you I was psychic, Jack. Must have read your mind._ 😉 _[7:45pm]_

Jack finished both sandwiches, cleaned up his plate, and took himself to bed.

And it was there, sated and safe, that he finally allowed himself to cry.

\---------------------

Jack called Phryne back the next day, slowly sipping a glass of water as he filled her in on everything that had happened the day before, including taking his traumatized ex-wife to her sister’s directly from the station.

He didn’t think he was imagining Phryne’s relief at hearing that.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted. “But I will be.”

“Very glad to hear it, Jack.”

“Oh and I spoke to the AFP Deputy Commissioner — she says that the case against Sanderson and Fletcher looks as airtight as she’s seen in a long time. So… thank you, Phryne. For everything.”

“Of course, Jack. Did she say anything else?”

“Just that she had her eye on me now, which, honestly, I don’t know whether I should be pleased or scared.”

“Oh scared, Jack, definitely scared. Aunt Prudence’s attention is notoriously laser focused. Easy enough to get burned that way.”

Jack stopped mid-sip. “ _Aunt_ Prudence. Are you kidding me?”

“Not this time, Jack.”

Jack groaned and closed his eyes.

Just what he needed — two of them.

\---------------------

They settled back into a rhythm after that, spending most evenings FaceTiming each other to play games or watch movies or just talk. He even consulted her on cases sometimes — she was, after all, a consultant. 

When her name came up one too many times with the new Commissioner, Jack was given a little speech about being careful working with civilians, consultant or no.

So he filed a little paperwork.

Jack called Phryne later that afternoon.

“If it ever comes up, you are now a special constable of the Victoria Police Force.”

“Am I? How did you work that?”

“Turns out there’s some benefit to reading archaic police code at 2am.”

She laughed in delight.

“How wonderful!” she exclaimed. “But don't I get a certificate or something?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

\---------------------

Phryne was checking her email an hour later when she received a new one from Jack. There was an attachment, and when she opened it, she burst out laughing.

It was a certificate, clearly made in MS Word with a template most likely intended for a small child’s cowboy themed birthday party. It was full of the most appalling fonts and clip art imaginable. It was utterly ridiculous.

She loved it.

\---------------------

“An umbrella? A wagon? A covered wagon?”

Phryne grunted in frustration. 

“A cookie?”

BZZZZ. Jack’s phone went off and she turned to scowl at the camera.

“A cookie???” she asked in annoyance.

“Well what is it?” he demanded.

“A spider!”

“That’s a spider?” He looked unconvinced.

“Yes!”

A frustratingly adorable smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Well it seems, I've finally found your Achilles’ heel, Phryne — Pictionary.”

Phryne’s scowl turned into a full glower.

“Oh is that so? Well here’s another one. Clue: _Something Jack Can Go Do To Himself_.”

Jack watched her scribble, an amused tilt to his head and smirk on his lips. “Well I can see what you’re going for from the context clues, but honestly, Phryne, it just looks like an ampersand.”

Phryne glared at him once more, but he was saved, so to speak, by his doorbell. 

Jack pulled his feet off the desk and put down his drink. “Be right back, dinner is here.”

Phryne crossed her arms and took a sip of her own drink, considering all the ways she could decimate him in Scrabble next week. Off screen she was vaguely aware of voices, one Jack, another female. The sound of laughter — the woman’s — caught her ear and she listened a little closer, her jaw dropping just a bit at the sound of Jack’s laughter in return. She waited for him to reappear, which he did eventually, a slice of pizza in his hand.

“Who was that?” she asked, more casually than she felt.

“I told you,” he said. “Dinner.”

“Seemed rather chummy with the delivery person,” Phryne noted.

“Oh, yes, that’s Concetta. She’s one of the owners. She sometimes makes the delivery herself, since I’m on her way home.”

Phryne smirked. “I’ll just bet you are,” she told him.

“Pardon?” Jack asked around a mouthful of pizza.

“Nothing. But perhaps we should move on from Pictionary. You don’t seem to be very good at seeing things that are right in front of you tonight.”

Jack cocked an eyebrow. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you’re just afraid of having to draw something slightly more difficult than an arthropod known for the _exact_ number of legs they have.”

“That must be it, Jack. Hangman?”

“Hangman,” he agreed, wiping his hands on a napkin and pulling out a piece of paper.

As Jack began drawing his scaffold, Phryne frowned minutely. She should encourage him to ask this Concetta out. It’s what she’d do for any other friend. Hell, it’s what she’d do for a stranger. 

So why wasn’t she?

Curious.

“Ok,” Jack began, holding up his paper, eight dashes at the bottom. “Now let’s see who can’t spot the obvious.”

\---------------------

> _**Phryne, is it possible you emailed my constable a copy of something called Erotica of the Far East? [4:40pm]** _
> 
> _It’s possible. [4:41pm]_
> 
> _**And is it also possible you BCCed me?[4:42pm]** _
> 
> _You’re welcome. [4:42pm]_

\---------------------

Jack looked at the note in his hand, tucked in with the tiramisu. Despite being a better than average detective, he could, he had to admit, sometimes be a bit obtuse when it came to the subtle advances of women. Rosie had called it an adorable blindspot. His sisters had called it something far less charitable. He usually just found it annoying.

But there was nothing subtle about the note. Which was fine, Jack liked forward. And, more importantly, he liked Concetta. She was charming and lovely and kind. He should absolutely call her. Take her to dinner. See where it led.

He looked at the note, and then his computer.

Fuck.

\---------------------

As Phryne ran into her apartment she could hear the sound of his call from her laptop. She raced over to answer, slightly out of breath: she was late and certain this wasn’t his first attempt to reach her.

“Sorry sorry sorry,” she said, throwing her purse on the couch and running into the kitchen. “I had a meeting with a source that ran over.”

“It’s fine,” she heard him call from the computer. “I ordered a bite to eat while I waited.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, pausing in the act of getting a glass of water. “Good, good…” She finished with the water and decided to add a glass of wine to the evening as well. 

She returned to the laptop and smiled at him. “So how was your day?”

“Fine, I met with — ” He narrowed his eyes and squinted at the screen. “What happened to your necklace?”

Phryne reached up with her hand to see what he meant and realized a few pearls were missing from the strand. Damn.

“You can’t just zoom in?” she joked, buying time. She wasn’t interested in his or anyone’s worry tonight.

“He double clicked the last of many double clicks,” he teased and she laughed. “Sadly, no, my computer skills don’t extend that far.” He squinted again. “But it looks red. Are you alright?”

She sighed. “A mild altercation with a less than friendly source. It’s nothing, really.” She gave a little self deprecating smile. “I'm sure he's not the first man who wanted to wring my neck.”

“No?” Jack asked, a flirtatious smile forming on his own lips. Not the reaction she’d expected, which was a more than pleasant surprise. Then he surprised her again by leaning forward, as though he could close the distance between them in any significant way.

She saw his fingers reach towards the screen, touching the pixelated representation of her neck, and Phryne shivered; she wondered, briefly, if the electricity between them was so strong it actually travelled along power lines. She expected him to stop, realize the futility of trying to touch her from 2,600 kilometers away, but he didn’t. She couldn’t even see his finger anymore, it was out of view of the camera, but she could feel it, ghosting over her neck, across her clavicle. It reminded her of those stories about phantom limbs, when you could feel something as a part of you, even when it’s not.

How close had they become?

And why didn’t it feel close enough?

She let out a shaky breath which seemed to finally pull him out of whatever trance he’d been in and he dragged his hand back into view of the camera.

“Well I’m very glad you’re ok,” he said, voice rough with something she wasn’t sure she was ready to name.

“Me too,” she admitted.

“You would tell me though? If you weren’t?”

“I would,” she promised. “Though I’m not sure what you would do about it from Melbourne.”

“I could call in sick,” he suggested. “Come up to see you.”

“Oh you wouldn’t dare,” she told him. “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy it, but that’s not Jack Robinson. The man who always does the right thing, the noble thing.”

“Not always.”

And there was that roughness again.

He coughed to clear his throat. “So… what are we doing tonight?”

She clapped her hands in excitement and he looked appropriately nervous. “I found a new movie, Jack! You’re going to _hate_ it.”

He groaned, but smiled. She heard his doorbell ring and he excused himself to answer it, returning a minute later with a sandwich from the same shop she’d ordered food for him from so many weeks ago.

“Not eating Italian tonight, Jack?” The question was light. Breezy. Important.

He gave her a small smile. “Strano's is closed,” he lied.

She grinned, though she didn’t mean to, and toasted him with her wine. “Looks like you'll have to make do with me and my sandwiches.”

“Looks like we'll have to make do with each other.”

\---------------------

Phryne sighed and leaned her head back into the cushion. This was ridiculous. So he wasn’t answering. He was busy.

For a whole day.

And a half.

But who was counting.

She sighed again and decided it was time to stop sulking and get up — life changing events rarely happened on the couch after all. She hauled herself up to her desk, turned on her laptop and pulled up the story she was working on. The in-depth series she was almost ready to file. 

And then it would be time for a new adventure.

She made some changes, a few notes, then closed the document and pulled up YouTube.

“And what are we making tonight, Mr B?” she asked the smiling man before her.

He didn’t answer, or maybe he did — either way the video was interrupted by a Zoom invitation from Jack.

She shook her head at her previous foolishness and opened it.

And promptly burst out laughing.

He was at the Globe Theatre again, looking extraordinarily anachronistic in his modern slacks and dress shirt.

“Hello, Jack. Did we have tickets to something I forgot?”

He shook his head. “No. I just thought you might like a little atmosphere tonight.”

“Oh? And what’s tonight? Another recitation?” she asked eagerly, the memory of the last one seared into her mind forever.

“Would you like it to be?”

“More than anything,” she replied.

He tilted his head in thought, then cleared his throat.

“I could not stay behind you. My desire, More sharp than filèd steel, did spur me forth.”

“ _Twelfth Night,_ ” she noted. “Lovely choice. Is that why you called?”

“Actually, I’d like to play a game,” he added. “If you’re interested.”

“I am. Hangman?” she asked.

“Hangman,” he agreed. She saw him take a notepad out of his pocket and rip out a piece of paper. But then he did something strange. Instead of holding it up to the camera so she could see, he stepped forward and knelt down...

...just as a piece of paper slid under her door.

Phryne’s breath caught in her throat.

“Jack…”

She moved over to the door and picked it up, then flung open the door.

He was here.

He was _here_.

He nodded at the note in her hand.

“You better start guessing,” he suggested. “Your man’s in trouble.”

“No, Jack, I don’t think he is.”

Phryne grinned and jumped up, catching him off guard even as he caught her.

“Took you long enough,” she said, her gaze darting between his lips and his eyes.

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s it? The Shakespeare quote, the game, the visit, and that’s all I get? Honestly, I think as romantic overtures go, this is pretty damn good.”

She shrugged, but she couldn’t stop grinning all the same. “I think you can improve on it,” she determined.

He rolled his eyes, even as he moved into her apartment and shut the door behind them with his foot. He spun around and walked forward again until her back was against her door.

“Like this?” he asked.

“Better,” she admitted.

He reached up to cradle the back of her head, drawing her face closer to his.

“Like this?” he breathed.

“Better,” she whispered, closing the gap and kissing him. Finally, _finally_ , kissing him.

And oh… it was worth the wait.

She pulled back eventually, reluctantly, sliding down the door until she was on her own two feet again. She took his hand and started moving him towards her couch.

“Like this?” she asked, making sure he was ok with where she was taking them.

“Much better,” he agreed, clearly very much ok with it. 

As they passed her wall, one of the frames caught his eye and he laughed, looking back at her with a face full of joy and something she was finally ready to name.

“You had it framed?” he questioned happily.

“I’m a Special Constable, Jack. It’s a very important job.”

Jack nodded even as he lowered her to the couch.

Because sometimes that’s where life changing events _do_ happen.

He leaned down to kiss her again and she stroked his cheek softly. 

“Lovely to see you, Inspector.”

“I told you,” he reminded her, “I prefer face to face meetings.”

“I thought you said most meetings could be emails,” she teased, slightly breathless as he kissed her neck. 

“Email this,” he muttered, moving down her clavicle. 

“Sadly, I think the spam filter would block that wonderful thing you’re doing with your tongue.”

He laughed and then pulled back, suddenly looking serious. “I’m sorry, is this… I didn’t mean to just attack you. Should I have, I don’t know, made some declaration first?”

“2,600 kilometers, Jack. That’s a hell of a declaration. And I’m fairly certain I attacked you.”

“You did, didn’t you?” He tilted his head a fraction in feigned consideration. “You know what? I can cope with that.”

She laughed and kissed the tip of his nose. “Fair enough. I am wondering though… what was your hangman phrase?”

He raised an eyebrow. “ _That’s_ what you’re thinking about? I am clearly out of practice.”

She rolled her eyes but suspected the ridiculous grin on her face rather undercut the effect. 

“Humour me,” she requested, and he nodded. 

“Eight letters.” A kiss to her chin. “Three little words.” A kiss to her forehead. “Clue: a phrase.” A kiss to her lips. “You can work it out when you’re ready.”

She nodded, still smiling like the besotted fool she was, and tilted her face up to kiss his equally besotted grin. 

She could cope with that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drink Jack makes her a Vieux Carre, a classic cocktail straight from 1930's New Orleans.


End file.
